Fruit Machine

Am single handedly keeping the massive greenhouse that is Holland in business at the moment.  Dom cannot get enough fruit into him.  That is, except yellow fruit.  A mango or banana shall not sully his lips intact. (He’s had his banana pancakes and a Glenisk banana yogurt this weekend, but he won’t eat a full ‘nana at all)

Okay so the bit about Holland isn’t fully true, our berries are definitely Irish.  I try to buy at least European fruit if not Irish, but I know that the more tropical choices are coming a long long way, organic fairtrade or not.  But, guess what came from Meath this week?  Grapes!

Dominic’s Oma grows grapes in her conservatory.  Bunches hang heavily along metres of vine pinned along the top of the windows.  She grows a lot of fruit and veg, and we get random bits and pieces throughout the year.  (It’s not fairtrade either, we give nothing in return) These grapes are gorgeous, smallish, and really flavoursome. They have seeds, something my spoiled self avoids when picking grapes in the supermarket, but actually they’re not bothersome for any of us.  When I send grapes into creche I halve them, but at home I just keep a close eye if they’re small like this.  I still get a bit nervous mind. This was the first time we had him pick them off the stalk himself.   Later he decided to show off his new picking prowess – in our friend’s yard he began to pick her not quite ready tomatoes.  Oops.  (She has everything from cauliflower to corn growing in pots & crates, am feeling quite inspired, for next year mind.  But no bananas.)

Wiwi!

He’s churning out the new words this weekend too – Goat!  Bat!  It’s a boat! (yes his first sentence, and it was, indeed, a boat) But, unfortunately, his furry green fruity friend’s proper moniker eludes him. We’re getting regular mid-dinner calls for a wiwi?  weeeweeeee? mama wiwiiii?

Might have to make fruit flashcards…

Jill

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here’s a tip for you

BLW cookbook  – Meatballs in Tomato Sauce

Don’t try and make meatballs this using quorn mince!  I had a feeling this might happen, there’s no fat inherent in quorn mince to make the meatballs really stick together.  They had the usual egg & breadcrumbs, and looked like perfect roundy specimens as they chilled in the fridge.  But as soon as they hit the oil they kinda crumbled.  Figured in for a penny in for a pound and just crushed them all up.  So we had a good ol fashioned “mince”y tomatoey dinner.  And it was really tasty, simmered in the tomato sauce.

I’m guessing we’re not the first people to try making quorn mince meatballs though, so after a quick google, I’ve found this recipe on the Baby Led Weaning site, which involves smaller meatballs and baking them in the sauce so definitely going to try again.

It’s a little hard to judge whether Dominic likes things or not at the moment.  His current 2 top food related words nooooo & “moh?” (more).  No, in this case, doesn’t always mean no. He’ll often say it then happily keep eating, or take what you’ve offered.  More is usually a demand for more pasta, more grapes, or more yogurt.  He can have them!  “Wuh wuh” (water) is also fierce popular, but as much for its messing abilities as its thirst quenching goodness.  He often has snacks like a breadstick or a few grapes while we’re preparing dinner post creche.  It’s pretty hard when we get in the door from creche, throw the bags down and try to start dinner.  There’s only ever one parent home at that point, and it’s tough to chop and season and sauté while Dom stands arms up towards either you or the food cupboards.   So I might be filling him with snacks before dinner is ready.

We’re doing pretty well at meal planning at the moment.  We’ll have 4 things decided that we’ll make during the week, but we’re not good at making things in advance.  The furthest I’ll go is chopping some stuff before work in the morning. And in this house that’s ultra prepared…

Throwing. Not my fault.

Yesterday mama’s friend Tina from the internets asked her when I stopped throwing fud around.  Well I’ll tell you now, I don’t throw it around when I love it, like here where I’m eating fishy pie (Annabel Karmel’s Nursery Fish Pie).

I’m only learning to use my fork, do you like it?  I have them in all the colours.  If food falls off my fork it goes on the floor. That’s not my fault.

I’m good with spoon, but I get too much on it. Then it falls down me and on my chair and on the floor.  That’s not my fault.

I throw the bits I don’t want when I’m full up of fud.   Or, when I dont want anymore I play drums with my spoon or my fork and I try to take mama’s too because hers makes more good noise.   That might make bits jump out of the bowl.  That’s not my fault. Sometimes mama sees when I’m finished eating and justintime she stops the fun and takes my bowl away.

When a cat goes by I might think she would like some mandarin so I give her some by lifting my arm up high and whooooshing it down and then the cat has mandarin on her.  That is my fault and then mama puts me down out of my chair.

dom